They All Lived Story 64: Type-Casting
by LadyWordsmith
Summary: Mar-Apr 1983. Sometimes a man has to be someone he isn't usually in order to make things happen. Sometimes, that challenge is in being himself. Several folks learn this as attempts are made by family and alchemists to start to move on with life. For some, that involves hunting down information on the Hashman Syndicate. Edward's grandson, Ian, learns a lesson in humility.
1. Chapter 1

**March 25****th****, 1983**

"Stay away from my girlfriend you son-of-a-bitch!"

As pain exploded in his face, Ian Elric seriously regretted getting out of bed early that morning. "Damn it!" He staggered backwards, tasting blood. "I haven't touched your girlfriend, buddy." Ian put his hands up to protect his face as the guy took another swing at him. "Seriously!" Who was this guy anyway?

"Like I believe that," the other guy snorted. "She told me you kissed her."

_Crap._ Ian couldn't honestly be sure he hadn't, though he certainly hadn't done so knowingly. He'd only been out with a couple of girls since coming out to West City. He was shooting a recurring role on the new season of _West City Cops_, another one of Tanner's pet projects. "What's her name?"

"Like you don't know!"

Ian ducked another swing and managed to block this time, silently thanking Urey for showing him that one. "I'm not joking. Was she that crazy chick who threw herself at me last week?" It was a fleeting thought. One of his many adoring fans who had come up to him on the street and just about tackled him.

He didn't get an answer, at least not a coherent one, as the man's face turned purple and he came at Ian yet again.

A whistle blast between the buildings made the guy spin around. Then he frowned at Ian and took off running.

Ian was quite happy to let the studio lot security handle the guy. He must have jumped the gate or something to get in. Putting a tissue up to his nose, he grimaced at the amount of dark blood splotching it. He could feel his nose swelling. _Tanner is going to kill me. _

Ears still ringing slightly, and feeling like he'd rather just go home now, Ian walked the last few yards to the safety of the wardrobe and makeup trailer. His nose was throbbing worse. _Shit, I think it's broken. _

"Wow, you're up early this… what the hell happened to you?"

Ian blinked through the pain, and realized that the woman standing in front of him was Bonnie, the woman who did his makeup and wardrobe on about half the projects Tanner assigned him to. "Unnecessarily jealous boyfriend."

"Unnecessary? Really?" Bonnie looked skeptical, but she walked right up to him and got in his face. Then she winced. "Ooooh. I'm really going to have my work cut out for me today."

"Gee, thanks for your concern."

"You're welcome." She stepped away. "I'll see what I can do. Sit down."

The tone brooked no arguments, and Ian knew better than to argue with someone who could make him look stupid on set. A moment later she was back, holding a cloth wrapped around what proved to be ice. "Hold this to your nose."

Ian complied. "Thanks," he said, though it came out muffled.

Bonnie went back to the work he had interrupted, which looked to be some minor alterations to one of the costumes; this one a sexy black dress with sequins and a skirt flared for dancing that Ian knew would be worn by one of the supporting actresses later that day.

From the angle he was watching, he couldn't see much besides the pony-tail her light brown hair was in, though he noted now that it had reddish highlights, natural ones that played subtly under the light…. And a very nicely shaped behind. Then she stood and turned, and he took a moment to really look at her face. Something he hadn't actually paid much attention to before, though he couldn't say why. She had a very pretty face. Not a flashy face, or a starlet face, but pretty, with hazel eyes and a few freckles across the bridge of her fair-skinned face.

After a few minutes she came back over and reached out, plucking the ice away from his face, then picking up a cloth, dampening it, and began to swab away the dried blood.

"Owwww!"

"Don't be a baby." She kept working. "The bleeding's stopped, thankfully, but your nose is starting to look like a strawberry."

"That is not the look I'm going for in this scene."

"Well I should hope not." She set the bloodied cloth down, examining his nose closely.

Ian glanced down. _How the hell did I miss those? _His best guess –and he was a pretty good guesser- was he was looking at a set of double-Ds, though they were hardly blatant under a simple green t-shirt. That and jeans were what she wore this morning. He wasn't actually sure he had ever seen her in anything more fashionable. Not that they weren't quality jeans, but she never seemed to dress up.

"Stop staring at my cleavage."

He brought his eyes back up to her face as she came at him with concealer. "Why? You have a great body."

She looked unsettled. "Because it's none of your business."

"Sorry." He went quiet again, focusing on the eyes behind her bangs, which were slightly long and falling into her face. Out of years of practice he held still while she worked, very gently, on his nose. It still hurt like hell. So he focused on her. Hazel eyes were surprisingly pretty. Ian couldn't remember having ever looked into eyes quite the shade of hers before. "So," he tried again. "You want to go out sometime?"

Bonnie snorted. "I heard that one coming five miles away. No."

"Why not?" he asked, surprised by the venom in her reply.

She shrugged. "Because I don't date actors. Especially not party animals."

"You don't go to parties?"

"Not your kind of parties. That's not my scene."

And she worked in film and television. Ian had to admit, he was intrigued. "Why not?"

"Because I have half a brain?" Bonnie suggested. "No offense. But I don't drink, and I don't go in for deafen-you-by-thirty music, and I like having a good conversation over being pawed over by guys who are drunk, or high, who think they're all that."

Ian was surprised enough he almost forgot to be insulted. "Who says I'm like that?"

"You go to them don't you? You've got a new girl on every magazine cover, every premier, every time you turn around and blink. I'm not interested in being the pic-of-the-week, Ian."

She paused as she put down the concealer and reached for another pot. Ian winced, but held the ice there. "So why are you helping me out?"

Bonnie looked thoughtful as she started lightly dabbing something else on his nose. "Because you're not a jerk," she replied. "You don't abuse the crew. You respect the people you work with, and you've got an incredible gift for acting. Unlike some people, you really get into the role. I can feel the emotions in the room when you work. That… and I get more compliments out of you about my work than any other five crew members combined," she admitted with a small smile. Then she turned away and focused on the make-up.

_Aha_. Ian smiled. "So… you _do _like me."

"You're incorrigible," Bonnie sighed. "Don't smile or you'll ruin this make-up job."

"Sorry."

Bonnie kept working. "Yes," she admitted after a minute. "As a person I don't think you're half bad. I also don't think you're half as vain as you pretend to be most of the time."

"You could always find out."

"I'm going to hit you in the nose if you don't watch it."

Ian shut up and didn't say another word until she finished and held up a hand mirror. It really was an incredible job. Aside from the fact his nose still looked slightly larger than normal, there wasn't a sign of bleeding or bruising to be seen. "Wow. You're a genius."

Bonnie smiled smugly. "I like to think so. To be fair, it's not a bad canvas to work with."  
"See, you do think I'm cute!"

The smile was replaced by a mildly disgusted shake of the head. "Do you really need to fish for compliments, with thousands of girls swooning all over you?"  
"Maybe I'm insecure."

"Or maybe you're just messing with me." Bonnie turned away and walked towards the wardrobe rack.

"Or maybe I think you're a good looking woman whose company I'm enjoying."

"And it's driving you nuts that I don't fall all over you." Bonnie tossed the jacket of his costume at him. "Get on set before you're late."  
"Have dinner with me tonight."

"No."

"Tomorrow?"

"Go! Or Tanner will be pissed." Bonnie glared at him. "I mean it. I've got plenty of work to do."

"All right, all right." Ian stood up and went to finish getting dressed. "I don't want to irritate my savior. Thanks, Bonnie. I owe you."

"Then go!"

* * *

"So the doctor looked at it and thankfully it's not broken," Ian's voice came across Ed's phone line.

"Well that's good," Ed replied. "Though wouldn't it just be better to avoid getting punched in the first place?"

"How often did you _try_ and get punched in the face, Grandpa?" Ian asked with a heavily sardonic tone.

"When I was your age? Well, Al would tell you I was trying on a regular basis," Ed snickered. "But I get the point. At least it'll mend."

"It will. But I wish Uncle Ethan and Aunt Ren were out here right now. I'm told there's one doctor here with alchemical ability, but he's booked for the next two weeks. By then I won't need him."

Ed felt a mix of sympathy and amusement at Ian's plight, mostly because he remembered the time Urey had punched Ian in the face over a girl the night before a performance. Ed had been kind enough to do something about it. Thankfully the damage had been minor enough that his limited healing ability had been enough. "I hope you thanked that wardrobe girl properly," he commented.

"I tried, but she won't let me." Ian sounded honestly exasperated. "She didn't want to go out for dinner, and when I thanked her she almost threw me out the door."

_Smart girl. _"So should we start planning the wedding?"

"Not funny, Grandpa."

"Have you at least figured out which girl that guy was mad about?" Ed took a step back away from the subject.

"Honestly, I think it must have been the crazy girl from the promotional," Ian replied with a sigh. "The guy was definitely local, and I don't have any girls in West City."

"Don't worry, I won't tell the gossip magazines."

"That's very reassuring." Ian got quiet for a moment. "How's Urey?"

"About as usual," Ed admitted, which wasn't saying much of late. Urey had gone back to working on the dairy farm, but his days were rather routine. Get up, eat breakfast, go to work, break for lunch, work till dinner. Dinner, and then most nights he vanished into the room he was still staying in at their house. Sometimes he'd go out at night, but never with anyone as far as anyone in the family could tell. Usually he took walks around the countryside, or stopped by one of the local establishments for a drink. Then he'd come home. The vast majority of his free time was spent, unsurprisingly, with his nose buried in a book.  
Rarely, very rarely, did he actually take the initiative to go over and spend time with Yurian.

"Is he home?" Ian asked.

"Not yet," Ed shook his head regretfully. "It's Friday." Which meant his first clue that Urey was home would be whenever he crawled out of bed on Saturday morning…sometimes Saturday afternoon.

"Well, tell him to get off his ass and call his brother," Ian replied. "I gotta go. Meeting someone for dinner."

"A girl?" Ed asked, perhaps cruelly.

"Yeah, actually. Sciezka Falman. She and her husband said I was welcome for dinner."

"Great!" Ed grinned. "Give them our best, from Winry and me." Winry would kill him if he forgot. "And tell Falman he still owes me for when I beat him at _Trivialities, _and I want a rematch."

"Sure thing, Grandpa. Take care."

"You too. Sounds like you're the one who needs it."

"So did I hear half of that right?" Winry asked when Ed hung up the phone. "Ian got punched in the face?"

"Again." Ed nodded and shrugged. "Frankly I'm a surprised this hasn't happened more before now. Every girl between the ages of twelve and sixty –and possibly older- thinks he's the hottest guy on the continent."

"Jealous?" Winry asked with a grin as she came up and hugged him.

Ed put his arm around her shoulders. "Nope. Not a bit. I've got the only woman whose opinion matters."

"Glad to hear it." She kissed his cheek. "Because my current opinion is that you're amazing at helping fold the laundry."

"Sneaky." Ed kissed her back, and gave her an extra tight squeeze. "But you're right."

**April 2****nd****, 1983**

Catching Bonnie when she wasn't working proved to be nearly impossible. She was always working, or if not, he couldn't seem to make his end of the day sync up with hers. So Ian resorted to coming in early the following Tuesday. A lot of what she had said had him curious.

"So, why don't you date actors?" Ian asked when they were alone in wardrobe and she was once more working magic on his face. Though after the weekend the swelling had gone down and the bruising was starting to fade. Right now it was magnificent shades of mottled brown, yellow, and purple.

"You're persistent, aren't you?" Bonnie asked, sounding slightly exasperated.

"I'm told it's one of my better qualities."

"Well it's not just you, or actors," she admitted as she brushed powder over his face. "It's all you show-off performers. Musicians especially." She frowned, but Ian couldn't tell if she was upset or just really focused.

"Who was he?" he asked in a moment of clarity.

Bonnie blinked, and looked so startled she almost dropped the brush. Then she gathered herself, and shrugged. "Ex-boyfriends. Plural. First one wanted to go out every night. There was always someplace to be, some party to be at. Didn't take me long to find out there was some_one_ to be with at every one of those parties to…and not usually the same girl."

"And the second?"

"Musician. Seemed nice enough when we met. He wasn't quite the party animal." Bonnie finished her work and stepped back. "_He_ turned out to be an abusive drug addict."

Ian winced. "Wow."

"Yeah. I mean, I'm not opposed to socializing, but the whole scene is just not me. I'm here for my art. I don't put up with cheaters. I refuse to compete with drama queens, and I don't drink. So what's the point? I don't like most of the people who go to those parties, at least not when they're there."

"I… see your point." Ian couldn't find anything to argue against there. It wasn't like he wanted to defend half the parties he had been to either. He was usually the tame one in comparison to some of the others. "You don't drink?"

"Because of my dad," she replied, turning her back on him as she straightened up her work station and prepared for the next actor. "He had… issues, when he got out of the military. He's a lot better now, but we don't drink at home, and I don't like how it tastes anyway."

"Sounds like a lot of my family," Ian admitted. "Only it's out of respect for my grandpa. I don't remember it. Most of it was before I was born, but he's still careful." He shrugged and smiled. "My family's idea of a good time is a humongous cookout."

That got a smile out of Bonnie. "Those are nice," she agreed. "You have a pretty big family don't you?"  
Ian snickered. "That's putting it mildly. I have four brothers and a sister. Most of my brothers are already married, have kids. And my Dad is…was… one of three. My Uncle Ethan's got three kids, and Aunt Sara had two." His smile slipped as his throat tightened momentarily.

There was a momentary flicker of sympathy in Bonnie's eyes. "I was sorry to hear about your Aunt. I guess you were pretty close."

"I lived with her until I got my place in Central," Ian nodded. "So for most of high school. Most of my family's a pretty close bunch actually, despite how many of us there are. I haven't even gotten into my cousins on Grandpa's brother's side, or my growing number of nieces and nephews."

Bonnie chuckled softly. "Holidays must be crazy."

"That's what I like about them," Ian admitted. "Though things were a little strange this year, without Sara." He glanced at the clock. "I should get going or I'll be late for rehearsal. Thanks."

"No problem," she replied. "It's my job."

"Not just for fixing my face," Ian replied honestly as he stood up and looked her in the eyes. "For listening. I'm really sorry if I offended you earlier. I wasn't trying to."

"It's all right, I figured that out." She shrugged. "Though I do appreciate the apology. If it helps, I don't hate you."

Ian couldn't help a grin. "I figured that out."

For a moment Bonnie looked like she might hit him, but instead, she shook her head. "Your family must really love you."

"Yeah, they do," Ian replied. "Though that's one place where I'm nowhere near interesting enough to be the life of the party."

"I find that hard to believe."

"It's the truth." Ian crossed his heart with his finger. "You can ask them yourself sometime."

Bonnie arched an eyebrow. "If I ever see one of them, maybe I will."


	2. Chapter 2

**April 3****rd****, 1983**

"Anything interesting in the report?"

Cal looked up from the papers on his desk and shook his head. Tore looked immediately disappointed. Cal wasn't feeling any more upbeat about it. "Nothing of any real significance. They didn't manage to kill the Raven Alchemist, but they did a lot of damage to the town of Urkur. Both of the Hashman guys they cornered committed suicide instead of being captured."

"These guys are crazy." Tore's fist thumped down on Cal's desk in frustration.

"Crazy doesn't even begin to cover it… Sir." Roy remembered to add the proper title at the last minute. He didn't look any more pleased than the others.

None of the State Alchemists were pleased. Seven months since the murder of Sara Heimler, the Twilight Alchemist, and there had only been two more attacks, and four Syndicate members apprehended. The last one, only two weeks old, wasn't much help. Cal was getting sick of failure. They needed information. They needed to figure out how to stop them.

They needed to make the streets safe enough for alchemists that they didn't have to have security following them everywhere.

At least the last two attacks hadn't been on anyone related to the extended Elric family. They had been on State Alchemists themselves, and also been far from Central. Not that Cal would put it past them to try something, but the only sure thing about any of this was that the Hashman Syndicate seemed to have vacated Central. Even their under-cover agents couldn't turn up anything except that Hashman had pulled his center of operations out of the city. The new location was, unfortunately, unknown.

Cal was beginning to think it might be outside Amestris. That, unfortunately, was not a reassuring thought. That made it outside his jurisdiction.

"No crazy doesn't," Cal finally replied to Roy's statement. "Investigations still hasn't pinpointed whether Hashman pulled his men back to Aerugo, or up to Drachma."

"And Kane still refuses to put any Alchemists on the job," Tore grumbled.

"Do you really want to walk down the street with a target painted on your back, Shock?"

"No," Tore sighed. "Charisa would kill me if the Syndicate didn't try first."

"Can't we get more information out of Hashman? The one we have in prison," Roy clarified.

"How would you recommend we do that, Firestorm?" Cal asked dryly. "We've already done everything that doesn't cross the border into the inhumane." Torture was not on the Amestrian military's list of acceptable forms of interrogation. At least, not anymore. "And unfortunately, Hashman knows that's as far as we go."

Roy scowled. "You don't think we could pull off a bluff otherwise?"

"He'd know we don't mean it." Cal sighed and rubbed his temples. The case always gave him headaches.

"I didn't say we'd claim it was sanctioned by the military."

Cal looked up at him. "What do you have in mind?" There was a dangerous glint in the Firestorm Alchemist's eyes.

"A more personal bluff." Roy pulled his ignition gloves out of his pocket. "His organization is responsible for the death of a superior officer I respect…who also happens to be my wife's mother. We flame alchemists aren't known for being long-fused."

"And if he calls the bluff?" Cal had no worries that Roy would put up a convincing front.

"Then I'll take full responsibility for whatever happens."

"You're not going to do anything stupid are you?" Tore asked Roy flat out.

"I'm not planning to," Roy looked from Tore to Cal, but his expression was grim. "But I think I can scare him without hurting him. Fire is a very convincing threat, and I expect he will take me _very_ seriously."

"Whitewater?" Tore looked at him. Cal suspected his friend was as torn about the idea as he was. Cal found himself wanting to go ahead and tell Roy to have a go at Hashman. The other half knew what a fine line they were skirting if they did.

They were running out of leads. Alchemists and their families were in serious danger. Investigations was even starting to come up empty. "What you do on your own time is your business, Firestorm," he replied finally. "You have the rank to walk in and talk to anyone in that cell block. So really, it's none of my business is it?"

Roy blinked. Cal watched his eyes narrow, then widen slightly in comprehension. "Of course, Sir," he replied after a moment, putting his gloves away. "I understand. If you'll excuse me, I have work waiting on my desk." He inclined his head respectfully and left the room.

"That could end badly," Tore commented after the door closed.

"It could," Cal admitted, letting out a long breath of air. "But it's all on him."

"I've never seen you cover your ass like that."

Was that a note of irritation in Tore's tone? Cal shrugged. "Not just mine. Yours too, and Roy agreed. The State Alchemists can't be seen to condone that kind of thing. That's half of what the Hashman Syndicate is ranting about. They sound like anti-alchemist sentiment after the war in Ishbal. It's been a long time since the war with Drachma too. Just because we're heroes for a while, doesn't mean we're universally popular."  
Tore snorted. "Yeah, I'd noticed. All right, let's see what Firestorm comes up with. I just hope it's worth it."

**April 4****th****, 1983 **

"A weekend off from filming at last." Ian smiled as he ate a bowl of noodles-and-cheese in the green room on the small lot that served as CV Studios' West City location. The room was mostly empty at the moment. Not that he minded, since his only companion happened to be Bonnie.

Tanner had informed them at the end of filming that after shooting ended Friday, they would have the weekend free. Ian had no idea what he would do with it yet, but it was their first free weekend in a month, and he wasn't about to waste it.

"It's about time," Bonnie commented, eating her own bowl of instant noodles. Though hers looked to be Xingese and had vegetables. "If I have to spend another late night making fine-tuning adjustments on dresses I might scream."

"If you do, can I get it on camera?" Ian asked, grinning. "The pure cry of agony would make great film."

Bonnie gave him a look that failed to be exasperated because it slipped almost immediately into a smile. "Only if I get any money you make off it."

"At least half," Ian promised. "So, since you're free, what are you doing tomorrow night?" He found himself hoping she didn't have plans.

"I'm going to visit my folks and eat a home cooked meal." Bonnie looked down at her bowl and then glanced at his. "You know, something that comes out of a real oven."

"Sounds fabulous," Ian admitted, feeling mildly disappointed, and slightly jealous. "I haven't had real food in ages."

"You want to come?"

Ian's fork froze half-way to his lips. There was no way he had heard that correctly. "Are you serious?"

Bonnie shrugged. "Sure. Mom always complains I never bring home any of my colleagues. And my little sister will squeal like crazy. She's your biggest fan," she added with a wink.

Which might be dangerous. That was it; Bonnie planned to have him killed. "And how old is your little sister?"

"Thirteen."

"That's quite a difference," Ian commented. He knew Bonnie was right about his age, and he was almost twenty-six.

"There's my brother, Jerry, between me and June. He's nineteen,' Bonnie explained. "The spread's just how it turned out. I've never asked, but I think Mom and Dad had a tough time having us, and I know they wanted a bunch."

"Sounds like my folks, and my brother Art and his wife," Ian chuckled. "_They're_ up to five kids and Rhiana's only ten-and-a-half. Lochlan's just about to turn two," he said, thinking of his youngest nephew. "And I wouldn't bet against them having more."

"They live in the country, don't they?" Bonnie commented. "Sounds like my folks. Our farm isn't too far outside West City actually. Just a couple of hours by car. My friend Laina offered to let me borrow her car for the weekend to drive out."

"Well that's nice of her," Ian replied, still trying to absorb the fact Bonnie had actually invited him. "You're sure your parents won't mind?"

"They're big on hospitality," Bonnie replied with a small shake of her head. "So no, not as long as you don't mind my sister hyperventilating because you exist, my Mom insisting you eat till you can't move, and my Dad asking you questions."

"What kinds of questions?" Being plied with food Ian could handle.

"Knowing Daddy, probably just industry questions, or questions about Resembool's crops and livestock when he finds out you're not just a pretty face."

Ian decided not to press his luck. "What about your brother?"

"Oh, he's working a ranch down closer to South City at the moment, so he won't be home this weekend." Bonnie stood up and rinsed out her empty bowl.

"What's on a ranch near South City?"

"His girlfriend."

_Ah. _"Well, then sure, I'd really like to come," Ian smiled as he finished his last bite. "It'll be nice to get out of town, see the area." Spend some time with Bonnie… "Though I'm still surprised you offered," he admitted.

Bonnie shrugged. "I invited you to spend a weekend being bugged by my family, not out on a date," she added the last with a grin. "If you survive, I'll consider hanging out with you more often."

Well, if that was the offer, it was definitely a start. Ian snickered. "Deal."

**April 5****th****, 1983**

Roy waited until he was absolutely certain no one had heard the conversation he'd had in Whitewater's office with him and the Shock Alchemist before he settled on a time to go over to the prison where Hashman was being held. There was nothing at all out of place for a State Alchemist to question a convicted criminal. The only place this plan skirted any gray areas was up to what Roy had to do to get information out of the man.

He sincerely hoped he didn't have to get himself in trouble, but Roy hadn't been bluffing, and had no intention of doing so. He just hoped Hashman realized the very real danger he was in if he didn't give up information that would help the investigation. Aside from being his mother-in-law, Sara Heimler had been his alchemy teacher, and a person Roy had always admired. He had known her his entire life, as his best friend's Mom before she had been anything else.

Hashman was going to give up good intel or he was going to be very, very sorry.

Roy went over right after he finished work for the day and had no trouble being let into the building, or getting permission from the warden to go speak with the prisoner in question. He was asked to wait a few minutes, then escorted to a room with a table and chairs, where Hashman had been seated, hands cuffed behind his back.

The dark-haired, middle-aged man with a narrow, angular face gave Roy a very interested look as he entered. "Well, well…. Hello there. Matchstick isn't it?"

_Don't let him goad you, Mustang. That's exactly what he wants to do. _"Firestorm," Roy corrected simply. "Thank you," he nodded to the officer waiting by the door. "I'd like a few minutes alone with the prisoner."

The guard looked slightly surprised, but left without argument, assuming likely that this was something he didn't have clearance to listen to.

"What can I do for you, Matchstick?" Hashman asked in a tone that was somehow both accommodating and impudent at the same time.

"Information." Roy got right down to the point.

"I've already told your Investigations officers everything I know," Hashman replied evenly.

"Oh, I know you haven't," Roy replied grimly. "Because I have questions we don't have answers to, and I recommend you cooperate."

"Or what?" Hashman's chuckle was mildly derisive. "You'll set sparklers off in my face? Blow me up? What would that do to your oh-so-pristine reputation, State Alchemist? Or the rest of your kind? All you'd do is prove my point nicely. Not that I think you would. You're not the Flame Alchemist. You don't have it in you to burn down a man in cold blood."

"Oh don't I?" Roy didn't have to feign the tightly-controlled fury in his voice. "If you know who I am, than you know I'm the most dangerous person you could possibly be locked in a room with."

"Shouldn't that be fourth?" Hashman chuckled. "I'd expect General Heimler or either of his brats to be more dangerous to me than you."

_Why you little…. _"Well they aren't," Roy retorted. _Call my wife a brat again and I may torch you anyway._ "You see, it's not that they're more forgiving than I am. It's that they aren't capable of hurting you the way I can. The best part is, I can do it without leaving visible marks."

For just a moment, he thought Hashman hesitated. "Now that's quite a feat," he replied smoothly. "For a moment, let's pretend I believe you can, and I believe you will. Now, just what questions do you have that you think I might have answers for that I haven't given you?"

"Are you going to answer them?" Roy asked.

"No, but I'm curious."

Roy came around the table in two strides, hauling Hashman up off his chair with one arm, the other hand –glove on- posed to snap right at the edge of Hashman's field of view.

The other man had clearly not been expecting Roy to get physical. Held at the very tips of his toes, collar tight, his eyes went slightly wide, and he glanced briefly at Roy's hand. "You wouldn't."

"Have you ever felt what it's like for blood to boil in your veins?"

* * *

Ian found it slightly amusing that he felt nervous about meeting Bonnie's family. He was pretty sure he could handle a thirteen-year-old fan girl, but he and Bonnie were colleagues, he wasn't even sure he could apply the word friend, and he was only too aware of the fact that parents were the least likely to be impressed with his publicity. As much as he had tried to moderate his behavior, the gossip magazines still had a field day every time they could get a shot of him so much as talking to an attractive co-star.

The countryside outside of West City the direction they were heading was fairly flat, rolling dirt-and-grass plains, though he could see mountains north and east of them. They were heading slightly south-east. There were a decent number of fences that strung out across what seemed to be large areas of empty grass, except that every so often Ian caught glimpses of cattle or horses grazing in the distance.

"Does your family raise cattle?" Ian asked as they crested a hill and in the distance he could just see one of the few farmhouses they had passed. The distance between houses made Resembool look close together.

"We have a herd," Bonnie nodded. "Though ours are mostly milk cows. We also have a few horses. Do you know how to ride?"

"Pretty well, though it's been a while," Ian replied.

"Good. Then I can show you the property the right way." Bonnie smiled. With the window down and the wind blowing her ponytail backwards, a serene smile on her face, Ian found it very hard not to just watch her. He averted his eyes back to the view out the window. Staring at Bonnie was a good way to get himself in trouble.

They turned down the road leading up to the white-washed farmhouse on the hill, situated between a couple of tall, old trees. Within a couple of minutes they were pulling into the drive. "Dad's probably still out in the barn. Come on." Bonnie got out.

Ian followed, grabbing his bag and then reaching for hers too. She gave him a curious look, but didn't argue.

They walked up to the door, which opened as soon as Bonnie knocked.

The girl standing in the doorway looked a lot like Bonnie, only much younger, with similar pony-tail and freckles, though she was wearing pink-rimmed glasses, and shorts and a t-shirt that showed that she wasn't anywhere nearly as developed as her older sister. Her eyes went very rapidly wide as she looked past Bonnie and right at Ian. She blinked then squeaked. "Oh my gosh!" she squealed. "You… you're…"

"Who is it, June?" a woman's voice called from inside.

Bonnie tried not to laugh, covering her mouth.

June took a few short breaths, and squeaked. "Mom, it's Ian Elric!"

"He's a guest, dear," Bonnie's mother's voice sounded mildly amused. "Please don't scare him."

Ian smiled at the girl. "Hi, June. It's nice to meet you."

If it was possible, her eyes were nearly as wide as her rims. "You know my name."

"Sure I do." Time for the kill. "Bonnie's told me all about you."

For a moment, he thought he might have turned on the charm too much. June looked like she might faint.

"Oh, move it, Junie," Bonnie sighed, stepping inside past her sister. "Or are you going to leave him standing on the porch all weekend?"

"That's enough. Go set the table, June." Bonnie's mother appeared in the entryway as June stepped out of the way enough for Ian to come in with the bags. She was a good looking woman of middle-age, about his mother's age, with the same brown-red hair that seemed to be standard for girls in this family. She smiled. "It's nice to meet you, Ian. I'm Becca Walsh. I hope you're hungry. Dinner's about ready to go on the table."

Ian set the bags down so he could shake Mrs. Walsh's hand; though he couldn't help grinning as he bent over it, and refrained from too much gallantry. Kissing her hand might go a bit far. "I'm looking forward to it, ma'am. I'm famished."

A momentary flicker of surprise in her eyes. Mrs. Walsh smiled again. "Well good. Please, come in and make yourself at home. Bonnie will show you the guest room."

"But I want to do that!" June's voice wailed from the other room.

Ian chuckled as Mrs. Walsh shook her head and said, "Finish setting the table, June!"

"It's this way." Bonnie motioned down the hall, and Ian followed her to the back of the house, where there was a decent sized room with a bed, dresser, and a desk just past the downstairs bathroom.

"This is nice." He set his bag down on the bed.

"The family sleeps upstairs," Bonnie informed him. "But like I said, my folks like guests. They don't get off the farm much. It's hard to find someone to cattle-sit."

Ian nodded. "I can imagine it would be."

Dinner turned out to be a pleasant affair. Mr. Walsh –Bill– came in just as the food hit the table, and the first part of the meal was taken up with eating, and Ian avoiding June's openly adoring stare, which Bonnie and Mrs. Walsh clearly found funny, but Ian wasn't sure he liked the considering look in Mr. Walsh's eyes.

So Ian focused on eating the amazing meal Mrs. Walsh had laid out for tonight: spare-ribs, fresh garlic toast, mashed potatoes and gravy, buttered peas, and a blackberry cobbler for dessert. It had been so long since he had been presented with a meal like that, that Ian took seconds, and then thirds, on everything, even cobbler. Bonnie had said her mother liked to feed guests, so he felt no guilt, even though it did earn him some slightly surprised looks. Dinner was mostly small talk, with Bonnie asking her parents about the farm, and the town, and what had been going on while she was gone.

Afterwards Mrs. Walsh –insisting on June's help- cleared the table and sent Ian and Bonnie off to relax. "This is your weekend off after all. And I know you don't get many of those."

So Ian wandered out onto the back porch, which was a long covered wooden one not unlike the wrap-around on his grandparent's house, and settled down on the stairs, stretching out, his elbows resting on the top step as he admired the farmyard, the barn that looked fresh-painted dark green, the neat well-repaired wooden fence.

He heard footsteps on the wood behind him before Bonnie settled down on the top stair, elbows resting on her knees. "Do you always eat like that?"

Ian managed not to snort too loudly. "If I'm not in public, yes."

Bonnie shook her head. "How do you stay that thin?"

"Family secret."

"I'm serious."

"Okay, not a secret. More like family metabolism," Ian admitted, grinning. "Grandpa's just as bad, so are most of my brothers and cousins."

"And the rest?" Bonnie asked curiously, as if she still didn't quite believe him.

Ian shrugged. "Have to diet more than the rest of us."

Bonnie shook her head. "It's inhuman."

"That doesn't make it untrue." Ian pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and pulled out one of many family snapshots he kept stuffed in there. "Mom likes to get pictures of us whenever we all get together," he said by way of explanation as he handed it over.

"That's a really crowded photo," Bonnie looked at it, startled.

"Just me, my brothers and sister, my brothers' wives, and the kids they've had so far," said Ian. "This one's from last summer. Art and Deanna are the one with the pile of little ones." Deanna was holding their then-new-born newest son, Lochlan. He pointed out Coran and Gale, and Ted.

"So that would make this, Urey?" Bonnie pointed at the remaining brother. Apparently she had been listening the last time he'd mentioned his siblings.

Ian nodded. "Yeah, that's him."

"He looks so sad."

In a picture where everyone else's faces beamed at the camera, Urey's neutral expression was all the more noticeable. Ian sighed. "His wife died having Yurian." The boy was sitting on his father's lap in the picture, but he didn't look particularly used to being there even as he smiled at the camera. "He hasn't been the same since."

"How long were they married?" Bonnie asked softly.

"Barely a year." Ian took the picture back and put it away.

"He must have loved her very much."

"They were definitely infatuated with each other." Ian got an uncomfortable feeling inside when he thought about it too much. "It was a really whirlwind relationship.  
They were engaged in under two months, I don't think they'd known each other more than two years if that when Cayla died."

"You sound like you don't think it was a good match."

"I didn't say that." Ian resettled on the stairs. A chicken walked across the yard, scratching at dust. "Cayla was a really nice girl, but she was really delicate health-wise her whole life. Urey changed so much to make her happy, all of his own doing, but it just looked kind of extreme to me, I guess. They weren't bad changes or anything they just… well it was hard to believe it was Urey sometimes. Yurian's turning four soon, and it's like Urey's still got a hollow space inside or something. He never smiles or enjoys anything anymore."

"What about his son?"

"My folks are raising him for the most part. Urey still thinks of Yurian's birthday as Cayla's death day. I'm not sure he'll ever be able to see it as a happy day." He couldn't tell Bonnie Urey hadn't wanted the boy to begin with. Telling even this much of the story felt a little like a betrayal of his brother's confidences. Maybe it was a good thing he was missing Yurian's birthday this year. Ian didn't think he could take watching Urey vanish afterwards, knowing his brother would spend the entire afternoon sitting at Cayla's grave, then go get roaring drunk afterwards. It was the only time in the year he did it… but Ian still hated knowing it would happen, and trying to stop Urey only let to a fight.

Bonnie looked sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that. It sounds like you're very close."

"Urey and I shared a room growing up. We're barely over a year apart." Ian watched the chicken. Two chicks joined her. "We even used to fight over the same girls."

"Oh?" Bonnie asked. "Who won?"

"It wasn't much of a contest, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?"

"Yeah." Ian frowned. The chicken walked off. "Urey's a really great guy, but when we were younger, none of the girls really went for the bookish type, even if he is a talented alchemist. They preferred me because I did theatre and sports, and by the time we were in middle school, I was taller and in better shape. It wasn't really fair to Urey. Especially when he got into alchemy, and Grandpa started training him. Grandpa's into really rigorous physical training. But I'm probably boring you, babbling on," he cut himself off.

"No, it's all right," Bonnie shook her head. "It doesn't sound like it's something you talk about much."

"Not a lot of folks want to hear about it." Ian sat up. "I appreciate you listening."

"Anyone up for coffee cake?"

Ian looked up. He hadn't noticed Mrs. Walsh coming out on the porch with a platter that held cake, and steaming cups of coffee. He grinned. "Do you think we have room for coffee cake?" he asked playfully.

"I think you might," she said with a surprisingly mischievous smile.

"I'm sure I can find space. That looks delicious." Ian willingly took the plate she offered him and the cup of coffee to go with it. He was fairly certain he had a corner of his stomach available… somewhere.


	3. Chapter 3

**April 5****th****, 1983 (Continued) **

Roy had almost stopped shaking by the time he opened his own front door. The drive home hadn't been enough to dry the sweat that clung to the back of his neck though, and he thought he might be sick. That was a conversation he hoped never to have again.

"Roy?" Trisha's voice came from the living room. She sounded mildly concerned, even though he had called to tell her he was working late.

"It's me," he said clearly as he hung up his jacket and followed her voice into the living room. He needed to call Fischer and talk to him. "Where are Rosa and Gabe?"

"They're already in their rooms for bed." Trisha took one look at his face and frowned. "What's wrong, Roy?"

"Work," he replied simply.

"And are you going to tell me about it?"

Roy sighed. There was no way Trisha would let him get out of doing so. It wasn't like he couldn't tell her. "After I talk to Whitewater. Or when… I need to tell him what I found out."

"Found out? How? And regarding what?"

"Phone first." Roy went to the phone and dialed, aware of Trisha staring holes in his back. He dialed Cal and Alyse's home number. The phone rang three times before Cal picked up. "Fischer residence."

"Whitewater, it's Firestorm. I had a chat with that friend of ours today," he commented as casually as possible. Given the situation lately, most alchemists weren't entirely sure their phones hadn't been bugged for security reasons. "You want to come over? I think you'll find his story pretty interesting."

There was a long pause on the other end before Roy got a response. "I'll be over in half an hour. Sounds fun."

"See you then." Roy hung up, and let out a long breath.

"Well?"

Roy turned and looked at Trisha. Now she looked worried. "I got some information out of Hashman this afternoon."

Trisha's eyes went wide. "You did? How?"

Roy looked away. "I went by and had a talk with him. Wait for Fischer. I'd rather not repeat this." He shuddered slightly. He would rather not tell her at all. "And I could really use a drink."

* * *

Ian hadn't meant to stumble into Bonnie's personal things. He had just been wandering from the living room to his little guest room while the rest of the family was upstairs getting ready for bed. He had poked his head in an open door out of curiosity, and found himself looking at a room plastered in clothing sketches. There was an artist's desk and lamp, and the desk was covered with more of them. Some were rough ones, others detailed designs…almost all of them were costumes.

And not all of them were old. The ones on the desk looked recent, and recently unpacked. In fact, a handful looked familiar. Ian picked up one, carefully marked and signed by Bonnie, confirming the artist's identity. The costume, he was surprised to find, he recognized as the one he was wearing next week for a big scene. Several others were costumes he had already worn filming for the show. One, peeking out from under those, was from his last movie! There were notes all over some of the sketches, including question marks, color choice options…as if the designer had been having debates and conversations with herself to match his size and coloring and the characters exactly. The detail was amazing.

Though, by far not all of the sketches were of him. Ian flipped through the stack, finding several costumes for others on the show, and in that film. A lot of the sketches on the walls weren't noted as being from anything, and those he took to be her individual projects. He had to admit, they were pretty stunning. He could have imagined half of the dresses he saw on girls at the biggest parties in Amestris, or the annual film and television awards.

_For a girl who hates fancy parties, she sure designs some gorgeous dresses. _Given he had never seen Bonnie in a dress, it was definitely telling to see her design so many beautiful ones.

"See anything you like?"

"Yeah. These are amazing I was just…" Ian stopped and turned around quickly. Bonnie stood in the doorway in sweatpants and a tank-top. Her hair was up on her head in a towel from her shower. Ian swallowed and stared at her eyes. _Don't look down. Don't look down. _"Sorry. I just poked my nose in… and it was hard to miss. Your designs are incredible."

"Oh, well, thanks." Bonnie shrugged, but Ian was sure she was pleased.

Ian put the stack back down. "I really didn't mean to pry. I knew you worked in wardrobe, but I hadn't realized just how much work you've done. Are these for anything in particular?" he gestured to the dresses on the walls.

Bonnie nodded. "A fashion line, actually. They're inspired by classic actresses and gowns from film, mostly, but also other women in other fields; artists, musicians, engineers."

"Engineers?"

"Engineers can't be fashionable?"

"I didn't say that," Ian pointed out, though he chuckled. "Granny and Gale would both probably hit me over the head if I claimed they didn't have style." And both his Grandmother and his sister-in-law were beautiful women. "I just think it's interesting."

"This is the one I mean." Bonnie moved past him and pulled one down off the wall for him to look at. "What do you think?"

It was a surprisingly elegant sheath dress, in a dark steel gray, that ruffled at the bust, with two angled, though solid straps at the shoulders, and fell straight to the floor, with a slit to the knee and hugged a woman's curves. The gray was shot through with threads of silver. There was definitely something to it that reminded Ian of auto-mail, or other industrial work, even though it was clearly an evening gown. "Wow. I can see it!"

"Really?" Bonnie looked skeptical.

"Who did you say was always complimenting your work?" Ian grinned, tossing her words from their conversation earlier that week at her. "Given how many costumes I've been in and out of, trust me when I say I get it."

"Point made." Bonnie took the sketch back. "I'm glad you like them. I hope someday they'll actually get made."

"You know, my grandfather –the other one- owns Silverman's in Central."

"He does?" Bonnie turned and stared at him.

"Yeah." Ian shrugged. "I mean, I can't promise anything, but he knows a lot of designers. You should show these to him. If he's willing to sell them, I'm sure someone would make them."

For a moment, Bonnie looked flustered. "Wow… really? You'd introduce me?"

"Of course." Ian nodded. He couldn't imagine his mother or grandmother not liking these, and Grandpa Silverman had always relied on them for fashion decisions on the women's lines. He had even started asking Callie's opinion. "The next time we're both in Central I'll make a call. You just tell me when you're ready, okay?"  
"I will." Bonnie looked at the walls for a moment, then gave herself a small shake. "It's getting late. We should get some rest." She smiled at him and headed for the door. "Can't have you falling asleep on horseback tomorrow and falling off. Tanner might kill me if I let anything happen to you."

Ian followed her out of the room, closing the door behind himself. "Don't worry about it. I have no intention of falling off tomorrow. I'm better than that!"

"Good. I look forward to watching you prove it."

* * *

Trisha was impatient by the time Cal arrived; impatient and a little scared. Roy's grim expression wasn't just dark; he looked visibly shaken by something. While they waited Roy poured himself a drink and just sat there at the kitchen table. It was just a cola –they didn't have anything hard in the house- but it might as well have been the way Roy stared into the dark amber liquid.

Hashman. He had said he had gotten information out of the man who owned the Syndicate; the anti-alchemist group that had gone after Fischer, that had killed her mother. That had attacked other alchemists since then. They were the reason there was a security detail on their place every night.

She let Cal in when he arrived. "Coffee?" she offered as he hung up his coat and went into the kitchen.

Cal just nodded stiffly as he sat down across from Roy with an anticipatory expression. "How'd it go?"

Roy shuddered slightly. "Let's just say the plan was… effective."

"Plan? What plan?" Trisha turned away from the coffee pot and stared at the two men at the table.

Roy didn't look at her. "Turns out Hashman's as afraid of fire as anyone else."

Trisha almost dropped the mug in her hand. "Roy, what did you do?"

Both of the men at the table looked grim. Cal sighed and pulled a small bottle out of his pocket, and slid it across the table. "Did you have to do it?"

"I didn't have to go as far as I was afraid I would." Roy took the bottle, and waved Trisha over.

Scowling, Trisha brought them both coffee, and watched her husband spike his own liberally. Roy took a long, slow sip.

"You two are going to tell me what the hell is going on," Trisha demanded, hands on her hips as she rounded on Roy. "Did you… oh god, Roy. You didn't _torture_ him did you?"

Roy looked ashamed. "No. But I threatened a lot of awful things I didn't want to make good on."

"How'd you keep him from calling your bluff?" Cal asked.

"Well let's just say the detention center needs another table and two more chairs." Roy shook his head. "This isn't going to do much to disabuse anyone of the notion that all the men in our family are hot-headed."

Trisha felt a sense of relief. For a moment, she had honestly thought Roy might say he had. His grandfather certainly would have done it if necessary. "At least you didn't kill him. Was this on your orders?" she glared at Cal. At work he might be her superior, but in her own kitchen he was family.

"No." Roy cut off Cal from answering. "I was there unofficially. I just wanted to see if I could get anything out of him that investigations couldn't. He had to believe he might actually be in danger. So I made it very clear that if he didn't talk to me I was all right with torturing the man I considered responsible for your mother's death… and damn the military." He took another drink. "Fortunately my impression of Grandpa is pretty convincing."

"You've got his eyes." Cal commented, sipping from his own coffee cup. "So he talked."

"And peed himself." Roy nodded. "Hashman is one messed up individual. Anyway, the short of it is this. He doesn't actually know for sure where his brother pulled the Syndicate headquarters out to, but their back-up plan was the mountains of South-Eastern Drachma, near the desert area. With the idea that they could still smuggle goods and plot and make use of the fact that the desert is still not heavily travelled."

"Makes sense." Cal pulled out a small pad of paper and a pencil and started scribbling notes.

Roy finished his coffee. "I confirmed a lot of what he'd told us so far, and what we've reasoned out on our own. Not that it was much to start with. That…and I found out where they got the explosives they've been using."

"Where are they getting them?" Cal looked up, startled, an eager expression. Trisha knew that was one of the biggest questions on some folks' minds; where were they getting munitions that had so much explosive force?

Roy held out his coffee cup for a refill. "They're smuggling them out of Xing."

"Did he say where in Xing they're getting them?" Cal asked.

Roy shook his head. "Apparently it was one of his brother's connections."

"Xing?" Trisha took the cup, but stood there, frowning. "Who in Xing is making those kinds of explosives?"

"Not even their military has anything of this power." Cal looked thoughtful. "At least, not that we know of."

"They wouldn't keep that a secret from us." Trisha found herself almost insulted by the suggestion. The Emperor was family. Ren was his sister!

"You're assuming that Mao knows about it." Cal commented as if he had been thinking along the same lines. "I'll have a few words with some people and we will see what we can come up with."

Trisha wanted to ask who he meant, but she knew Cal wouldn't tell her. Plausible deniability, and the fact that she didn't actually have the clearance to know everything he did. "We should start with him though."

"Oh trust me," Cal said. "The first thing I'll do is have Ren call her brother. But I seriously doubt that will tell us anything. Anyone who would work with the Syndicate isn't going to be talking to the Emperor. They're as proud of their alkahestry in Xing as we are of our alchemists. They rely on them even more than we do." He shook his head. "Whoever it is, they may not know who they're selling to either. We just don't know enough. But we'll find out." He nodded. "Good work, Roy. And don't worry. I'll make sure they get a new table and chairs."

Roy snorted humorlessly. "Thanks."

Cal stood up. "I should get home. We'll talk on Monday. Maybe I'll have something by then."

Trisha showed Cal out. When she returned to the kitchen, Roy had fetched his own coffee refill. He was standing by the sink, staring out the window into the front yard.

"Roy, are you all right?"

He shook his head. "I'm disgusted with myself," he admitted in a low, quiet tone. "It was my idea." He held up a hand to forestall comments. "But the things I threatened to do…." He shuddered. "I have no idea how Grandpa had the stomach to do the things he had to do. If I'd had to follow through…"

"You wouldn't have." Trisha rested her hands on his shoulders. She wished she were as convinced of that as she sounded. Roy wouldn't have tortured a man. Not even one who deserved it.

"I'm not so sure of that."

"Roy…"

"I'm serious." His hand tightened on the mug. "I was so mad at him! Sitting there with his smug face, so convinced of the military's decency, and the monstrosity of alchemists. I… I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to feel the way his victims did. That _bastard_." The mug cracked in his hands, and he let it fall, a trickle of hot coffee splattering on the floor as the ceramic shattered on the linoleum.

Trisha's hands slipped forward until she was hugging his shoulders from behind, her face pressed into his shaking back. "I know," she whispered. "I know. I hate them, too. You didn't do it…you're the better man. Just don't let him get to you. That's what he wants."

Roy turned in her arms, and pulled her close. "If they try and hurt you… I will kill him Trisha. Him, and anyone else in his den of filth. I won't let them hurt anyone else. I can't promise not to… I can only promise you I will hate every minute of it, and I'll probably regret it the rest of my life if it comes to that. But I can't just sit by until they go after you, or the kids, or another one of our friends."

The conviction in his tone scared her, even as his words assured her that as much as he wanted to get revenge, he would find no pleasure in it; justice then. Protection. This was why they were State Alchemist's wasn't it? Trisha held him just as tightly. "I understand, Roy. We _will_ stop this. Just please… please don't do anything that you won't be able to forgive yourself for."


	4. Chapter 4

**April 6th, 1983**

"How are you and Marbles getting along?" Bonnie asked with a grin as she reined in at the top of the hill.

Sitting on the black-freckled white gelding, Ian brought him up beside her without any trouble. "He and I understand each other," Ian smiled at her. "Actually, he hasn't really tried to challenge me. I expected to be tested more."

"He belongs to Jerry," Bonnie explained. "We've had him for about eight years. Actually, I'm surprised he hasn't tried to dump you at least once. He's good, but he does like to try and see what he can pull on new riders. He must think you know what you're doing."

"Yeah well, my legs may hurt tomorrow keeping him in line," Ian admitted. It had been quite a while since he rode. He was glad he was still on the horse. Bonnie, on the other hand, looked like she belonged on the chestnut mare on which she sat. "How old is your horse?"

"Rosie's fifteen. Dad bought her as a filly when I was eleven. He thinks everyone ought to train their own horse."

"So you trained Rosie?"

Bonnie nodded and led the way down the other side of the hill. The horses walked side by side. "She's my girl." She patted the mare's neck affectionately. "The gray two-year-old you saw in the paddock is Fog. He's June's."

They wound their way down to the stream at the bottom, and allowed the horses a brief drink. "So what got you into costumes?" There wasn't much about the farm that seemed like it would inspire that kind of thing. Especially not in a girl as tomboyish as Bonnie came across.

"School," Bonnie replied. "I mean, Mom taught me how to sew. It's a practical skill to be able to make and mend clothes. But we did a lot of plays, and because it's a small school, everyone was expected to be involved. I hate getting up in front of people." She shivered slightly. "So I painted sets, and I sewed costumes. And since I was backstage, that meant I had to put on everyone's stage makeup. I just discovered I really enjoyed it, and when I started getting work, it seemed reasonable to move to Central, and work my way through school. I couldn't ask Mom and Dad to pay for something that might not pan out."

No wonder she worked so hard. Ian had always been kind of impressed that she worked and studied at the same time, when he paused to think. He remembered being told that back when Bonnie first showed up around Central Vision Studios. She was always too busy to hang out. "Well obviously it has," he said. "I don't think I've ever seen you _not_ working. Before this weekend anyway."

"All that work is barely enough to cover an apartment and expenses." Bonnie turned her horse along the stream, and headed west. If he hadn't lost his way, Ian thought they were nearly back by the house. "You guys in front of the screen get paid better than some of us."

Ian winced. Given how iffy acting work was, he sometimes forgot that even the folks working regular, long, crazy hours didn't do any better than the actors. And he knew he was far better off now than he had been when he started. He had regular work, and for his movie roles he had made decent money. "I meant you got through school on your own, and just that… it's a good start. I mean, surviving is success in this business."

"Says the man with his face on every woman's magazine in two countries."

"And I still live in an efficiency apartment and live off the kindness of my family's kitchens," Ian pointed out, trying not to react to the hint of bitterness in her tone. "Only two?"

Bonnie shook her head. "Well I've only seen the ones from Amestris and Creta. If I can ask, what _are_ you doing with all that money?"

"After bills and food, most of it's in savings," Ian focused on the ground as Marbles picked his way over a particularly rocky patch. "And keeping me fed, even cheaply, clears out a lot." After seeing him eat, he doubted she would question that. "I'd like to be able to afford a better place at some point. And some of it went to medical bills after the accident. I'm really lucky Uncle Ethan didn't charge me anything. That was expensive enough as it was."

"He's the alchemical doctor, right?"

Ian nodded. "Yeah. When I got back to my folks' place he was there. Fixed up my face and sped things up a lot. If not, I doubt I'd still be getting as many roles as I am. At least, not with the scars that would have left."

"They were that bad?"

"Bad enough." She wouldn't have seen them, he realized. He'd been almost entirely healed up by the time he got back to Central. "I mean, I might have gotten the characters who need a rougher look, but they would have been noticeable." His finger came up, tracing easily the three or four places where he remembered them being. "This one would have been the worst probably." His finger stopped an inch from his eye. The worst one, on his right cheek, would have puckered slightly. "I'd have looked like quite the scoundrel… even more than I do already," he amended.

She chuckled. "I can see where that would have been trouble. They really like to cast you in roles where your face is an asset. I think your last movie was half close-ups."

"Not quite," Ian grinned. "At least a quarter of them were upper torso."

"So really they're just using your body to sell movies."

"I'd like to think they're paying me for my acting skills," Ian retorted. "Tanner's complained a couple of times that I'm not bulky enough, but he's finally figured out there isn't much I can do about that." He had plenty of muscle definition. He certainly worked out enough for it; but keeping weight on was more of a problem than off. "Not that he complains too much. After all, as you pointed out, it's not hurting sales."

"Must be a pain though. I don't think I'd like a job where looks matter that much."

The farm came into view over the next little ridge. "You'd be fine," Ian commented absently as Marbles fidgeted for just a moment. "You're prettier than half the girls on screen."

Silence met his statement. Ian turned in the saddle and looked at Bonnie, whose eyes were riveted on the farm, her mouth in a small line.

"Bonnie?"

She glanced his way, then smirked. "Only half?"

A knot of unease loosened in his stomach. She wasn't mad. At least, he didn't think she was. "Well, I've never seen you in a dress. I bet in one of your own designs, you'd get mistaken for a movie star."

Bonnie shook her head, but paused right as she looked about to respond. "Looks like we have company."

Ian turned his attention to the farm in front of them. Perched on the fence nearest them was not only June, but two other girls her age; one with thick black braids, and the other with short brown hair. "Let me guess… I have a fan club."

"June's friends probably wanted proof you were actually at our house." Bonnie shook her head. "You know girls that age. They won't believe anything they don't see with their own eyes, and they would _really_ want to see this one for themselves. Get ready for everyone in the county to know you're here."

So much for a quiet weekend. "Not necessarily." Ian grinned and heeled Marbles into a faster walk. "Let's just see what a little Elric charm can do."

"You have charm?"

"Just watch."

He could see the eyes widening on the two new girls as they approached and he became clearly recognizable. "What are their names?" he asked Bonnie quietly as they approached.

"Erin and Zara."

Ian put on his best smile and waved casually at June as they drew closer. He had to fight not to laugh when she almost fell off the fence in surprise then waved back, smiling. "Good morning, ladies!" he called out as he rode up and came to a stop near the fence.

June, for once, didn't squeal, though one of her friends nearly fell off the fence. The other tried to look coy. Ian hoped her parents were keeping an eye on that one. She might be trouble with that look in her eyes.

"It's too bad you weren't here earlier," Ian continued easily. "Bonnie's been showing me around. You must be June's friends." He nodded to both girls and flashed the smile again. "It's nice to meet you both. Erin and Zara, right?"

"How'd you know?" the brunette looked surprised.

The black haired girl continued her coy smile. "That's right! I'm Zara."

"Call it a lucky guess." Ian winked at Erin, whose cheeks turned rosy. "Well it looks like the secret's out," he said with a slightly exaggerated sigh.

"Secret?" Zara looked curious.

"The fact that I'm here, of course," Ian replied, looking slightly despondent. "If you know, than it's likely everyone knows I'm here for the weekend, researching for a possible new movie about a Western rancher. But it's supposed to be secret."

The girls' eyes widened. "Oh! No… no we haven't told anyone!" Erin blurted out.

"Honest!" June and Zara's voices overlapped.

"I should have known I could trust girls like you three to keep this to yourselves," Ian looked relieved. "I really appreciate that. I can't do my work if I'm being bugged by everyone in the area. Not that you're bugging me," he assured them. "But you know, I don't need any screaming fans flooding the farm and finding out the best shooting locations…and possible extras for the project, if it happens." He gave them a contemplative look, and had to fight not to laugh at the hopeful look on Zara's face. He might just have to talk to Tanner about this later after all. There might be a real money-maker in a film like that.

"Right. We won't tell another soul," Erin promised with an emphatic nod.

"Not one," Zara agreed. "We wouldn't want anyone bothering you."

"Great." Ian smiled. "It's nice to have such mature ladies around." He glanced at June. "Do you know when lunch is going to be ready? I'm getting hungry."

"Oh. I'll go ask Mom." June jumped down from the fence. Her friends followed in a scramble as if the chore really needed three people to go find out.

When they were gone, Bonnie started to chuckle. "Wow," she finally managed. "I think they might actually keep quiet."

"At least until we're gone tomorrow evening," Ian shrugged. They started riding back towards the barn. "After that, it won't matter so much."

"You know if Tanner hears rumors that you're going to be in a ranch movie he's going to want to talk to you."

"I know." Ian grinned. "And if it sounds like it'd be popular, he'll probably hire someone to write one."

* * *

"Winry, are you ready to go?" Ed called across the house. "Al and Elicia's train will be here in less than half an hour." He knew they would be forgiven if they were late meeting them, but he was looking forward to spending some time with just his brother and Elicia. They were planning to stay for the Spring Sheep Festival, and it had been too long since Ed had been able to spend time with Al.

When there was no immediate response, Ed crossed the living room and knocked on the door to Winry's workshop. "Winry?" Feeling a twinge of worry, he opened the door.

Winry sat at her desk, the light streaming in from the windows setting off a golden halo around her head. There was a large book open on the wood in front of her, and it only took Ed a moment to recognize it as one of their many photo albums. She looked up over the edge of her reading glasses and smiled. "Oh, Ed. I'm sorry. I was distracted."

"Which fond memories have stolen your attention away from me today?" Ed asked with a soft chuckle as he crossed the room and peered over her shoulders. Though he had his suspicions, and he wasn't surprised to see pictures of Sara. Not baby pictures, but pictures of their daughter as she had grown; a vibrant woman with a husband, and a family, and an amazing career. This particular album covered a span of time when Trisha was young, and James just a baby.  
Ed felt his throat tighten for a moment.

"I was cleaning up," Winry closed the album and pushed back her chair. "And I had forgotten I had this one out."

"It's okay." Ed rested a hand on her shoulder. "I came across a fascinating bit of information about light alchemy from Creta the other day and was halfway to the phone before it occurred to me that I couldn't call her." He left out the several agonizing minutes afterwards, as the reality of his daughter's death had once more weighed on his soul. He knew that, in time, those moments would become fewer, and the sharp agony fade to soft melancholy, but it would be a long, long time.  
Winry's hand came up and rested on his as she stood up. He let his come down as she turned to face him, still holding hands. Winry squeezed his fingers, and smiled. "I'm all right now. Let's go. We shouldn't keep them waiting."

Ed kissed her before they walked out of the room arm-in-arm. "It'll be good to see them again."

**April 7th, 1983**

Ian woke up early Sunday morning. Not that he was a naturally early riser, but he had gotten used to funny schedules, and the sounds of the family moving around at just after dawn on Saturday had woken him, despite the fact they tried to be quiet. So he was a little surprised to wake up on Sunday and find that the only person up when he came out of his room was Bonnie's mother, who was in the kitchen putting on coffee and starting breakfast.

"Good morning, Ian," Mrs. Walsh smiled at him. "I would have thought you'd want to sleep in. The girls aren't up yet."

"And Mr. Walsh?"

"He got up, milked the cows, and went back to bed." She chuckled softly. "Which meant I got to sleep in. Even we take it easy sometimes."

Ian looked at the sun, barely above the horizon, and the clock that said it was only six-thirty in the morning, and managed not to shake his head. They had some crazy ideas about early. But then, he seemed to remember that Deanna's family dairy ran on a similar schedule. "I thought I'd go for a run," he admitted, though the smell of coffee was rather alluring.

Mrs. Walsh looked amused, but she nodded. "It's a beautiful morning for it. Breakfast should be on the table in about half an hour."

Ian smiled back. "Sounds great, ma'am."

It wasn't a long run. Ian went out a mile and back, which gave him time to shower and dress, coming out again to the delectable smell of pancakes, syrup, eggs, and bacon now mingled with the coffee. His stomach growled audibly.

"I heard that from in here," Bonnie quipped as he joined them all at the breakfast table.

"Well some of us got up and worked this morning," Ian replied as he took the heaped plate her mother offered. "Thanks, Mrs. Walsh. This looks fantastic!"

June giggled. Ian was just glad her friends hadn't insisted on spending the night. Or rather, that Mrs. Walsh had insisted that they not.

"You're welcome. It's nice to know my cooking is appreciated." Mrs. Walsh beamed at him as she handed her husband his plate.

"I appreciate your cooking," her husband commented with a slight grumble.

"I know, dear." She smiled and sat down at the table. "Perhaps it would be better to say it's nice to have someone new to cook for once in a while, from an unbiased audience."

"Even if he's an actor?"

"Ian wouldn't lie about my food. Would you Ian?"

She was teasing. It was almost like being at home. Ian laughed. "No, ma'am. I certainly wouldn't. Thankfully, this is so good I don't have to." With that he dug in.

Mrs. Walsh's face flushed slightly with pleasure. She looked at Bonnie. "You should bring boys home more often."

"Mom!"

Ian almost choked laughing through his eggs.

He noticed her father didn't look amused however. The man had been politely reserved ever since his arrival. A good host, but not as jovial as Bonnie's stories on the drive out had made him sound. Ian didn't have to ask why. Clearly the man didn't trust Ian's motives, and Ian wasn't about to blame him for that. Not with a daughter like Bonnie, her dating history, and Ian's reputation.

So he wasn't at all surprised when Mr. Walsh nodded to him to join him in the living room while the girls were clearing the table and doing the morning dishes. They retreated with their coffee, and Ian took a slightly awkward seat on the couch, while Mr. Walsh settled into what was _his_ chair.

"I wouldn't normally ask this of a guest…"

"But you want to know my intentions regarding your daughter?" Ian cut in and finished for him with a tone that was matter-of-fact.

Mr. Walsh blinked. "Yes."

Ian smiled. "If I was at home, and we were talking about my little sister, Dad would be doing the same thing. Your daughter and I are colleagues, Mr. Walsh. She's a very talented woman, and she's been a friend to me at times I'm honestly not sure I deserved it. I have a lot of respect for her as a person and a professional. She's also made it quite clear that I'm not her type, and I wouldn't insult her by pushing the issue."

There were several long seconds of silence. Then Mr. Walsh nodded. "Fair enough." For the first time, he smiled at Ian. "It's been nice to have you."

* * *

The drive back to West City was pleasant enough. Ian only had a couple more weeks working on the show, and then it was back to Central. "So, what are you working on next?" he asked Bonnie curiously.

"I'm with the show for another two months, till the end of the season," Bonnie replied, her eyes focused on the road. "Then I've been asked to work on costumes for the new historical drama they're filming in Creta."

"That's great! So you'll be doing some historical designs."

Bonnie nodded. "Yes. I'm looking forward to it. You?"

Ian shrugged and watched the landscape sliding by. Though he couldn't help glancing at Bonnie, hoping to gage her reactions. "I'll be back in Central. I've got an audition for another series, and we start shooting _Steam and Silk_ right after I get back."

"That's the romance about the alchemist and the Aerugean spy right?"

Ian nodded. "Yeah. I'm playing the alchemist." Ryan Derring, State Alchemist, who in times of turmoil finds himself falling in love with the beautiful and mysterious Lita Roez.

"Well I would hope you aren't the beautiful female Aerugean spy," Bonnie chuckled. "I hear they've got some new girl doing the part."

Ian nodded. "Yeah. Rochelle Mustang."

Bonnie glanced his way for just a moment, surprised. "Mustang?"

"Yeah. It's a little weird, I admit," Ian chuckled. "She's my cousin's sister-in-law." Roy's second sister, who was only a year younger than he was. "But she's pretty talented, and I think she'll do well."

"And you won't have a problem doing steamy scenes with her?"

Ian smiled. "That's why it's called acting. Jealous?"

Bonnie snorted and looked annoyed. "Don't start getting full of yourself again, Elric."

"I was joking." Ian turned his eyes back to the road. "So, when you get back to Central, we should hang out sometime." He said it as casually as he could, keeping innuendo out of it. "I had a good time this weekend, and I like talking with you. That is, if you feel like it."

The car went quiet as Bonnie pulled up to a stop sign, looked both ways, and then accelerated again. It lasted long enough that Ian began to wonder if she was just going to ignore him.

"Sure." Bonnie said as they drove under a line of trees, the shadows running stripes across her face. "That could be fun."

"Great." Ian relaxed a little, and didn't push the conversation any further. The last thing he wanted to do was press his luck. At the moment, he would settle for a friendship.

* * *

"Nothing like sweet iced tea after a hard afternoon's work," Alphonse commented with a chuckle as he dropped down in the white wicker chair on Ed and Winry's porch.

"That's for sure," Ed chuckled as he reached for his own glass, and drank it down. Sparring always made him thirsty, and there was almost nothing better than a good workout with his brother. With a sigh of contentment, he set the empty glass down on the table. "I really thought I had you that last time."

"It's a wonder you two having broken yourselves yet," Elicia commented with a soft laugh.

"Us? Nah. You've got nothing to worry about." Ed grinned and sat down, reaching for the pitcher to refill his glass.

Winry beat him to it. "Like you really expect us to believe that?" she commented as she poured more tea into his glass.

"Sure," Al nodded. "We know what we're doing. It's the novice mistakes that tend to be the most damaging."

"And if you say anything about our age, I'll have to come up with a way to get back at you." Ed took another sip of tea, slower this time.

"That's a threat?" Winry snickered.

"No, just a request that you don't make me do it."

Winry shook her head and turned back to Elicia, and the conversation Ed and Al's return from their sparring match had interrupted. "So what were you saying about Ren's conversation with her brother?"

That got Ed's attention immediately. "She's heard from Mao?"

Elicia nodded. "It seems that where-ever the Hashman Syndicate is getting their high-powered explosives, it's not from the military. According to Mao, he looked over the inventories personally, and nothing they have is missing. Not that they have very much with that kind of power anyway." She shook her head. "So he doesn't know where it's being exported from, but he's put several of his own operatives on it. Hopefully they'll find out something soon and put an end to it."

"If we don't put an end to the whole Syndicate first." Ed commented grimly. He'd like to. If he knew where they were actually hiding out for certain, he wasn't entirely opposed to taking a force and just wiping them out… except for the fact that he still couldn't bring himself to do that much murder in what would basically be cold blood.

"The way Franz and Cal talk, that's going to remain a top priority for quite a while," Al commented. "I don't see either of them resting until every member of the Syndicate is dead or behind bars."

"I'm with them on that one," Ed admitted. "There needs to be justice for what they've done."

Al nodded soberly. "Justice, but not revenge. We can't let alchemists become what Hashman wants to claim we are."

Ed thought of Franz, and James, and those affected by the situation that were as fervent to end it… _Not just alchemists._ "We won't, Al. Whatever happens, we won't."

"Well of course you won't," Winry commented, sounding slightly exasperated. "I've never known the two of you to sit by and let anyone do anything without you when it's important."

"Sure we do," Ed teased. "Just not when it has to do with saving the world."

"We might as well live with it, Winry," Elicia sighed. "We married wannabe superheroes."

"Hey!" Al looked at his wife with feigned offense. "Who are you calling wannabes?"

* * *

_Author's Note: 1/28/2014: Finis! Ian has survived his weekend at Bonnie's (without being castrated), and slow progress is made on the investigative end. Coming soon... more drama!_


End file.
